


Gifts from the Heart

by Cuptivate



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwarven customs, Erebor, F/M, Fili and Kili are brats, Pining, Pranks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:18:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuptivate/pseuds/Cuptivate
Summary: Durin's Day gifts are special, but your gift for Dwalin is even more than that.





	Gifts from the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Despite how romantic it would be I don’t believe Erebor would have had a midwinter celebration, being largely in lockdown due to the harsh winter weather. Also, the anniversary of Azanulbizar is late December, and I doubt any dwarrow would feel like celebrating around that time.  
> Therefore, for this story, I’m going with Durin’s Day as the celebration that indulges in gift giving and partying. 
> 
> The story is set some years after BOFA. Erebor has been reclaimed and is once more a thriving dwarrow kingdom where everyone enjoys the newfound prosperity. The Company is still close and all of them have been visiting Bilbo in the Shire for Yule a few years back, a celebration they all much enjoyed. 
> 
> A little something for the festive season. Merry Christmas :)

“What do you hope to get for Durin’s Day?” Kili asked next to you, licking his fingers clean from the sticky sauce that coated the ribs, addressing the table at large but looking directly at Dwalin, who sat across of him. You immediately perked up at the question, but kept your face neutral and your gaze on the plate before you. But not before thinking you saw the warrior’s eyes flick to you for a brief moment. Probably because he was wondering why you were there. You did not really belong at the Company’s table and always tried to stay away, but the princes kept pulling you along and now had squished you between them.

The warrior shrugged. “Don’t really mind,” he grunted in his customary way, his broad fingers idly plucking on a thick slice of white, fluffy bread. “Am not much for the whole gift giving ...”

As you had indulged in many a middle of the night thinking about what you might give the burly dwarf if you ever were brave enough you felt yourself deflating slightly.

“I hope I get a few pairs of sturdy socks,” Fili chimed in, “Mine are all but falling apart.”

“Socks are boring,” Kili made a face. “I want a new bow. One of the ones that trader in Dale sells. He says he got them from Harad, and they are truly magnificent. The wood’s called _bamboo_ and the quivers are inlaid with gold and silver ...” The young dwarf looked dreamily in the air. You knew the trader he was talking about. Anything in that shop was worth more than a year of your pay.

“It’s about the thought people put into their gifts,” Dis reprimanded promptly and cuffed the back of Kili’s head, “Not about the value or what fancy shop they got it from. And you are not a dwarfling anymore and should not go running about saying ‘I want’.” Despite the Durin’s not lacking the money now, with what was rumoured to be hole caves filled with gold and treasure, neither of them - apart from Kili - seemed particularly keen on spending it. Sure, for official business they always showed up in the best clothes money could buy and bedecked themselves in jewels, but as a private family they lived rather frugally.

Balin cleared his throat, dabbing the napkin against his lips. “The tradition of old was that gifts couldn’t even be bought,” he reminded them, “They had to be made by one’s own hand. Of course, it is rather labour intensive if one has to make a gift for many people. Which is why, over time, it was accepted that gifts could be purchased.” Something you never did, not ever having the coin to spend it on gifts, but you certainly knew about making them by hand.

“It is a shame, really,” Thorin mused contemplatively, “While we didn’t have the luxury to be overly generous in Ered Luin I feel that things are getting out of hand with the buying here in Erebor. And I worry that the spirit of the season gets quite a bit lost in all the commercialism.” You certainly shared the King’s opinion.

“Aye,” Glóin agreed as well, “I’ve been down at the Night Market just the other day. It’s madness. Couldn’t walk five steps without being pushed about by the crowd. It’s good for our economy, of course, but people seem to be losing their head over it a bit.”

Dori nodded, passing the bread to Óin, who gestured for it. “I’m overrun in my shop. Not that I mind the business, obviously, even though I’m rich beyond count with my fourteenth share of the treasure, but people get rude and hectic and have the most ridiculous expectations, want everything yesterday, and wrapped, too, thank you very much.”

“Some places have run out of stock,” Ori told them, “I needed some new inks and the guards actually had to intervene when customers got into an argument with the shopkeeper as to why he dared to run out of Royal Blue.”

Dwalin grunted his assent. “Aye, managed to avoid serious bloodshed, but still had a few broken noses and plenty hot tempers to deal with.” You focused on sopping up the sauce on your plate with some bread in the hopes nobody noticed your blush - because you had been _there_ when Dwalin was called to that incident in the Night Market in his function as Guard Captain, making the most of observing the impressive dwarf handling the incensed customers and the upset shopkeeper with confident ease.

“Who needs Royal Blue ink?” Bofur asked, puzzled, as were you.

“Folk call it Royal Blue as it’s the shade of Durin blue. It’s very popular, they use it for writing well wishes and poems,” Ori explained, pushing some green vegetables on Nori’s plate when Dori was looking the other way while exchanging some words with Bombur on his other side.

“Well, if you do go to the markets, make sure to hold your purse tight,” Nori advised the table at large, “There’s a fair few longfingers in the mountain now. I’m weeding through them, but most are just small criminals, the likes I can recruit for other things if needed. The heavy organisers in the background have been successfully removed.” The spymaster shared a look with the Guard Captain.

Dwalin nodded again, brushing some bread crumbs from his beard and you made sure to keep your eyes averted and your hands busy so to not reach over and do it for him. He did have a nice, thick beard indeed. “Aye, the mountain’s safe,” he said. “Dale’s a bit of a different matter. Bard reports he’s got a rise in armed robbery, not just petty theft. Best not go there on your own, any of you. Let Nori or I know if you wish to go and we’ll arrange for an escort.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Thorin agreed, giving his nephews a stern look. “That means you two!”

“We would never!” Kili and Fili protested in unison, everyone chuckled and you couldn’t hold back a grimace. If there was trouble one could be sure the brothers would not only find it but actively seek it out.

“Yes, you would,” Thorin shook his head at them, amused and exasperated at the same time. “You are too old to fool around when you’re told otherwise.” Then he sighed. “I wish we had a celebration that was a bit more like the Yule we came to experience in the Shire. Just enough snow to cover everything but no blizzards like we have them here. Warm, cozy smials that smell of pine and cinnamon and roasted chestnuts ...” The King’s voice trailed off, his eyes unfocused in wistful memory.

Balin sighed. “Aye, quiet evenings by the fire, reading a good book, nobody coming to beg for a favour or to sign a petition or to discus the virtues of some obscure ancient law.”

“Hot, spiced wine and that lovely, lovely winter ale,” Bofur added dreamily, tugging on his mustache.

“Cookies,” Dwalin ground out, his low rumble soft, “Bilbo’s sugar cookies. If that’s all I get to eat for the rest of my life I’d be a happy dwarf.”

You felt your face soften at the warrior’s words and his longing, warm expression.

You were holding Dwalin, the younger son of mighty Fundin, in quite fond regard; in fact the muscly dwarf had been the center of your daydreams for a few decades now. But of course he only saw the princes’ little friend in you and had never so much as spoken to you on your own, always marching off in what appeared to be unnecessary hurry as soon as he saw you without Kili or Fili, who kept insisting on dragging you along. You were a fair bit older than the two young dwarves and had met them in Ered Luin when some of your ponies protected them from a wild boar while they were out collecting firewood. Thorin, in his gratitude, had offered you the position of groom in his stables, which you took, glad to be out of your little hut on the outskirts of the settlement, the only place you could live with your seven ponies, which you rented out to potential clients. Moving into town, in a nice room above the stables, filling the largely empty stables nicely with your ponies and having them work exclusively for the King was a step up in every sense of the term. And ever since the day you settled in above the stables the two young dwarves seemed to seek your company, although you were not in any denial as to why that was: you took their pranks without complaint, never dobbed them in and never reciprocated. As such you had been waking with blue hair one day, been doused with mead and dusted with sawdust, walked around Thorinuldûm without boots for three days because they were missing and you only had the one pair, the arms of your winter coat had been sown shut once when there was a blizzard outside, stink bombs had gone off under your bed, ink bombs had exploded in your towel. You didn’t like any of it, but you made sure to be a good sport every time, laughing along and taking it in your stride. In the end the lads’ somewhat questionable attention meant that at least someone spoke to you and sought your company. You had nobody else and even though you were used to having only your ponies as your company, with the princes in your life it certainly was far less lonely.

It had been hard to see them leave when Thorin decided to go on his quest.

Harder still to know that Dwalin would be gone, too, and you never had a chance to make your feelings known.

The only small part you could play was to make sure their ponies were in pristine condition when the Company set out. As predicted your life was extremely secluded as soon as dwarves and ponies were gone, although you had two just weaned foals to keep you company, Garnet and Jasper. When ravens came from the Lonely Mountain, telling of the quest’s success and the King’s summons of all his peoples to Erebor it was a no-brainer to join Lady Dis’ caravan on the long trek East.

Now, years after the mountain was reclaimed, Erebor was free from the dragon’s stench and bustling with dwarrow at all times of the day. Durin’s Day was a time of celebration and had an even deeper meaning for the dwarrow of Erebor as it was on Durin’s Day the Company of Thorin Oakenshield entered the mountain via a secret door for the first time after fleeing from Smaug almost 150 years earlier. While you had settled well, put in charge for the considerably larger stables once more - they housed some horses besides ponies now as well, as well as war rams and some mules, and with some assistants to help with your work - you didn’t have family and few other friends, so you really only were intending on giving Durin’s Day gifts to Fili, Kili - and Dwalin.

Yes, this year you would give a gift to Dwalin.

Because this year, for the first time, you knew you would have a gift that would be not only well meant and thoughtful, but _absolutely perfect_ for the warrior. It would take some careful planning, true, but there was still a bit over a month to go and hopefully that would be enough time to see it done.

 

~~~

 

The next morning found you in the rookery before dawn, handing a letter to the dwarf in charge for the ravens, addressed to Master Bilbo Baggins, Hero of Erebor, of Bag End in the Shire.

That in itself was nothing special. You had written to the hobbit after you arrived in Erebor and his part in keeping your ponies safe from the trolls had been revealed to you. Thanks to him you found out that the poor creatures had managed to keep themselves from the grasp of the wargs that had chased the Company to Rivendell, letting you know that they had showed up at the Elves’ doorstep some weeks after the Company had left, in good health if a bit scrappy. You were reunited with them some time after, when they made the long journey from Rivendell to Bree, where they joined a caravan to Erebor. It had been a happy reunion, and you were in epistolary contact with Master Baggins ever since. While you had never been a part of the troupe that went back West to visit the Shire, even though they continued to use your ponies, you almost felt like you knew the way of hobbits, thanks to Bilbo’s avid and lively way of writing.

It was almost three weeks since you sent the letter in which you opened your heart and confessed your crush on the Guard Captain, explaining your idea of making your interest in him known by gifting him sugar cookies for Durin’s Day, since he so enthusiastically had praised them.

Bilbo’s answer had arrived with the first rush of messages early that morning, but you hadn’t had the time to read it in peace - dreading it a bit, too, because he could say no, you knew well how important recipes were for hobbits - but were determined to do it now, on your lunch break. Sitting on a bench in the Great Hall, a bowl of stew before you, you unfolded the parchment with sweaty hands, quickly flicking over the lines - and your heart gave a jolt of joy-

“What’s that you’re reading, Y/N?” Kili asked as he flopped on the bench beside you, looking curiously.

Mahal’s beard! The last person in all of Arda that should find you with Bilbo’s letter in your hand, where the hobbit applauded you for trying to win Dwalin’s heart with his sugar cookies!

“Um ... a letter,” you said, hastily folding the parchment and holding it close to your chest. “A private letter,” you added with a glare when the young dwarf’s face came almost unseemly close to your chest in an effort to catch a glimpse of the handwriting.

“Is it a secret?” he asked, voice innocent but with a glint in his eyes.

 _Yes_. “No,” you said, “But it is private.” Schooling your face into a neutral expression you shrugged. “It’s a letter from Master Baggins, if you must know.”

Kili’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Why would Bilbo write to you of all people?”

That stung. “We have been writing to each other for some years now,” you explained tartly, “First, I thanked him for taking care of my ponies, in that debacle with the trolls ...” Kili looked the tiniest fraction guilty - but only for a moment. “... then he let me know that they were found in Rivendell. We’ve been going back and forth every few months. It’s nice. He’s a very good letter writer, and I think he enjoys hearing from the Company from someone who’s not ... from the Company.”

The prince’s eyes were narrowed and his mouth slightly open. “That’s weird,” he said, “I really didn’t take you for someone who likes that sort of stuff.”

You sniffed a little. “I doubt you know a great deal about me,” you said honestly: the two princes might have been dragging you along for the better part of three decades but that didn’t mean they ever really asked about your opinion or your thoughts.

He hummed and regarded you with an odd expression for a moment. “May I read it?” he asked and already reached for the parchment.

You snatched it away from him and slapped at his hand. “Absolutely not,” you snapped, “As I said: it is private.”

“But Y/N-“ he whined but you saw Fili sauntering towards your table from across the Hall and realized that it was time to retreat.

“Anyway,” you said and got to your feet, “I’ve got to get back to work now. See you later.” And you rushed off, giving Fili a little smile in passing but not stopping, even when he opened his mouth to say something.

 

~~~

 

It was no problem at all to gain Bombur’s permission to use a corner of his kitchen - after you managed to get a grip on your nerves for having to confide in him as to _why_ you needed it in the first place. The rotund dwarf just stroked his beard and smiled at you before explaining to you where you could find the ingredients and - after some arguing - accepting your coins to purchase them.

You were an alright cook, having cooked reasonably tasty meals for yourself for a long time, but baking was another matter entirely. Following Bilbo’s very detailed instructions it took you six attempts one very early morning to produce a batch of perfectly round cookies, with the blissful balance of crunchy and gooey-soft and the right amount of sugar on top.

It was well into breakfast time and Bombur licked his fingers after finishing the test-cookie you had given him. “They are exactly like Bilbo’s, Y/N,” he smiled. “Well done. Well done indeed.”

You were on a high and confident that you would be able to finish another perfect batch, but it had taken you much longer to get to this point than you had anticipated. As it was time to see to your duties Bombur allowed you to keep the ingredients laid out on the small worktable you had utilized for your needs these past hours, coming back at lunch to finish your baking project. Gratefully you cleaned it up best you could for now and rushed off to the stables ... Only to run straight into Fili’s arms when you turned a corner in a light jog.

“Ooof,” the prince said and held his hands up to cushion your collision. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said with his usual cheeky grin, “And I thought I was in a rush ... What’s your hurry?”

You tried to ignore how his eyes narrowed and roamed over you, realizing that you had cleaned up the worktable alright but had neglected to clean up yourself. Flour was on your tunic and your pants were wet in parts where you had dried your hands after doing the dishes.

“Helping ...” you said, a bit too fast, and because you didn’t want to have to be drawn into any other long winded explanation - or deflection - you announced, a bit too cheerful, “So sorry, but I’m really late, gotta go!” Before rushing off again, leaving the blonde prince alone in the hallway.

 

~~~

 

The morning of Durin’s Day found you tired from being awake all night and antsy with anticipation and butterflies. It had been a relief to finish baking two days prior, and it had gone without a glitch. With the cooled cookies safely stored in a jar - lent to you by Bombur - and hidden in your room, you had spent every free moment since then working on your gifts for the princes and finishing off the one for Dwalin. You had purchased two lovely round and one square tin, all with lids, embossing one round one with bows and arrows, the other round one with knives and swords, and the square one with axes and war hammers. Adding a few polishing cloths and whetstones to the two round tins you were done with the gifts for Kili and Fili. Dwalin’s tin held the cookies. You added blue bows and little cards with their names to each gift. Unlike the princes’ cards you had not signed the card for Dwalin, instead had included a second one inside the tin, at the very bottom, which Dwalin would only find once he had eaten all the cookies, hoping the sweet treats would put him in a mellow enough mood to be a bit more appreciative of your declaration.

Because that’s - ultimately - what giving a Durin’s Day gift was, if the recipient wasn’t a friend or a family member.

You’d gone long before first bell and taken your gift to the Great Hall. While many dwarrow chose to hand their gift directly to the intended recipient, equally as many chose the more anonymous way of leaving their gift - neatly wrapped and labeled - on a massive table that had been pushed into the center of the Great Hall for that very purpose. Kili’s and Fili’s gift found places at the very front of the table. But when you looked at Dwalin’s gift it occurred to you that it would be easy to guess who made it, seeing that the princes’ gifts looked so very similar.

Suddenly, your nerves got the better of you again, and you briefly considered just carrying the warrior’s tin back into you room and hiding it.

“That’s a good spot for it,” a voice said quietly and calmly next to you. A bit startled you looked into the eyes of Bombur. The rotund dwarf smiled at you encouragingly and pointed to at the table, between the massive amethyst that was there as a center piece and a gift that very much looked like a wrapped sword.

When you hesitated he chuckled. “I guarantee, Y/N, that it will be very well received. And you’ve already been brave enough to ask Bilbo for the recipe and me to use the kitchen. Don’t falter at the last step now.”

“But it is the most important step,” you mumbled, feeling sick, “The one that is the most frightening, by far.”

Bombur reached out and simply took your wrist, guiding your hand that held the tin to place it on the table. When you released your grip you grimaced.

“Well done,” the rotund dwarf praised. “Hold on to this one, instead.” And he pushed a small parcel into your hands. It was wrapped in green cloth and tied with smooth braided leather strings. A small card read your name and ‘from one baker to another’.

“For me?” you asked, unnecessarily, voice hoarse.

Bombur chuckled again. “Aye, lass, I wager you’ll have good use for it.” Then he took you by the shoulders, turned you around and steered you towards the table of the Company. A moment later you sat next to Bombur’s wife who grinned at you encouragingly and moved the plate away but pushed a mug of very strong tea into your hands. You were grateful, because at that moment the Durin’s entered the hall and you suddenly felt very sick in your stomach. Clutching the mug in one hand and Bombur’s gift in the other you observed the King making his round around the hall, greeting people and exchanging words here and there, Dwalin at all times to his right and slightly behind him, ever alert and watchful, despite the merry occasion.

The princes immediately bounded to the gift table and soon enough came back with their arms full of presents, dumping them on all around where they sat and began to open them.

“Y/N,” Kili cheered across the table, waving your tin, “Lovely this, thank you.” Then he plopped it to the side and reached for the next gift. You sighed, having little illusion that no matter what you gave them was anything that would occupy their minds for more than the blink of an eye. Still, it hurt a little, you had put a lot of thought and effort into their gifts. Fili hadn’t even looked at it yet, but enthusiastically ripped at an elaborate, huge bow made of gold wire, shoving his brother out of the way when he peeked over his shoulder, resulting in a short scuffle.

Dis frowned and shook her head at their antics. “Ori, would you please make sure my sons know what gift they received from whom so they can properly thank them later.”

The scribe nodded and soon was scribbling notes on the backs of the gift cards.

It took some time for the King to make it to the High Table. Your lungs constricted and you almost turned blue for lack of air when he walked past the center table and had a brief look at the gifts there. He walked past your gift for Dwalin as well and for a moment you thought he would see it and point it out to the warrior that still trailed him, not even looking at anything but the dwarrow around them, ready to dispel any threat to his King.

With a little disappointment at Dwalin’s lack of interest you sipped at your tea, realizing you still clutched at Bombur’s gift. Setting your mug down you unwrapped it carefully, taking your time. It had been years that you got any gift worth mentioning, certainly one that was wrapped so prettily. Your last gifts in Ered Luin had been from the princes: a bale of hay from Kili - for your ponies - and a wooden cup from Fili, which had the silhouette of a four-legged animal carved into its side - to this day you were not sure what it was meant to be, only assuming that it was meant to be a pony, even without the tail and the mane.

You inhaled sharply when the last layer of green wrapping fell away, revealing an apron. Looking at Bombur he grinned and gave you small wink. You blinked a bit and had to clear your throat a few times and were just about to speak when Kili’s voice interrupted you.

“Master Dwalin, there’s a gift for you.” The prince lopped the square tin across the table, the big warrior reaching out in reflex and easily catching it.

“Kili, is it necessary to throw it, you don’t know what’s in it,” Thorin chastised, looking displeased.

“Sorry,” the prince said breezily with a shrug. “Doesn’t say a name on it, I wonder whom it’s from.”

“Looks an awful lot like our tins, doesn’t it Y/N?” Fili chimed in, winking at you, “Thanks for mine, by the way.”

You felt as if all eyes turned to you, but you weren’t sure because your ears were ringing and your head felt as if it was on fire. Keeping your eyes firmly on the apron in your hands you wanted nothing more than to sink into the stone under your feet and vanish forever.

“Cookies,” Dwalin’s voice said a moment later, full of surprise and in a way husky that you couldn’t help but peek up from under your lashes. There was a small smile on his gruff face and he looked like a dwarfling who got his first axe, despite his massive hands making the tin look rather tiny. “Someone made me sugar cookies,” he said astonished. Then he reached into the tin and took a cookie.

Your palms turned sweaty and your lips curled up slightly and you waited for the blissful expression on his face, which you had envisioned so many times when you had tried to visualize how this moment would be.

Dwalin stuffed the cookie into his mouth, a few crumbs falling into his beard. He closed his eyes and chewed, once, twice ... and his face contorted in disgust, his eyes opened wide and he spat the cookie on the plate before him. “Is this a joke?” he bellowed, shuddering repelled and reaching for his brother’s mug, downing the contents in one gulp.

For a moment it was dead silent at the table while everyone sat frozen. You blinked, feeling dumbstruck and as if all air had been knocked out of you. When Kili broke into hysterical laughter, followed by a sniggering Fili you stood abruptly, knocking your chair over and dropping Bombur’s apron, and fled from the hall.

 

~~~

 

You ran all the way to the stables, nearly choking on your tears. _What had they done?_ Because it was absolutely clear to you that Fili and Kili had done _something_ to your cookies. Because you knew your cookies were absolutely perfect, Bombur even said so, when he had tasted the earlier batch. _The earlier batch_ ... But nobody had tasted Dwalin’s batch. Including you, since you were so sure you knew what you were doing. Well, you surely made a fool out of yourself now. The look of disgust on Dwalin’s face would be ingrained in your very soul forever.

With shaking hands you saddled a very reluctant Jasper and lead him out of the mountain. It was raining and a strong, cold wind was howling over the plain, making it clear that winter was only a few weeks away.

Apart from the guards at the gate not a single soul was to be seen.

You steered Jasper towards the rolling hills to the East and pushed him into a fast trot, the fast pace and strong wind letting the tears freeze on the skin of your face.

 

~~~

 

When you returned to the mountain several hours later you were wet and ice cold and the bleak feeling in your gut was made worse by guilt when you looked down at the soaking wet and heavily breathing Jasper, who trudged along, unhappiness emanating from every fiber of his being.

In the stables you dutifully ignored your own dripping clothes and tended to the pony, taking off his tack and beginning to wipe him down thoroughly.

“Y/N?” came Fili’s tentative voice from the door to Jasper’s stall.

You really, really didn’t want to talk to them, nor did you want to see them. Not right now. Maybe not ever. So you didn’t respond.

“Y/N, we are sorry,” Kili said, for once not the cheerful bouncy dwarf you’d known for decades.

“You made such a secret of it and we thought it would be funny to swap the sugar with salt ...” Fili confessed. _Right_.

“... but we see now that we went too far,” Kili finished the sentence.

What did they expect you to say? “It’s done now,” you declared hoarsely, “No point whining about a broken shovel. Just, please, leave me alone.”

They were silent and you knew them well enough to know they were exchanging sad looks.

“But we are friends,” Kíli insisted, with a cheery confidence you didn’t share.

You frowned. “Are we though?” you asked, feeling very subdued. “Ever since I’ve begun working in the stables in Ered Luin I have been the butt of your jokes. And I let you do it, pathetic as it is, because otherwise there would be nobody to give me any attention. Have I liked it? No, never. Have I struggled when you ruined my only blanket, hid my only boots? Yes, I have. But I took it in my stride, laughing along in all the right moments like the silly dolt that I am. Have I silently hoped your quest would see you mature and you’d seize your pranking? Aye, I have. You were princes before, but now you are also the most eligible bachelors in all the Khazâd kingdoms. I should think your pranks are just a bit below your station, same as I.” You ran a hand down the neck of the pony, whose cranky mood seemed to have mellowed a bit. “And I find I have quite enough of it all. If that means you won’t speak to me anymore, that’s fine, too. I’ve never really belonged in your presence and it is long time that I settle into my own life as it is, without dreaming of more.”

The heavy silence was only interrupted by the occasional stomp of a pony hoof. “Y/N ...” Fili began, clearly very taken aback by your words.

Jasper nickered and threw his head back. You gave him a pat and shushed him, only to startle at the dark figure stepping up behind the two dwarves.

Dwalin.

 _Great_. You pressed your lips into thin line.

The brother’s noticed the warrior’s presence, too. “Dwalin-” Fili began again, hesitantly, but the tall dwarf waved him off.

“Whelps,” he growled, voice low and angry “Skedaddle.”

You could hear Kili swallow with a gulp before the both of them ran off.

You were alone with Dwalin. Your hands turned clammy and your stomach felt like it was filled with lead. Taking a deep breath you focused on Jasper’s nose, stroking his soft ears. Best to get this over with. “I want to apologize, Master Dwalin, for giving offence ... with my ... with my gift.” Mahal, it was hard to get the words out. You wanted to cry. Trying to force the tears down you took a few deep, steadying breaths. You would get through this most humiliating moment of your life. You had to. And then you had to, somehow, let go of your ... crush ... on the strapping warrior. Because that’s what it was, right? Just a silly crush. One that had taken too long already.

“Aye, there’s quite a few apologies necessary,” the warrior said quietly after a long silence. “I’ve not known the lads pranked you all this time,” he continued, stepping inside the stall, “Although I should have guessed it. The blue hair, the ink on your face, when you were running around without boots? I thought you were just clumsy, unorganized. To think that was always them ... picking on you like that ... I don’t like it.”

You were a bit clumsy; there was no denying it, but only with other people, and only when it came to talking to them. It stung a little that the warrior would have thought so little of you, especially since he was well known not to be particularly great with words either. Still, you bobbed your head once in a curt nod. He did say he didn’t like the princes’ pranking after all.

“So that’s the first apology: I am sorry I’ve made the wrong assumptions. I should have known better. You are so diligent with your duties, it never made any sense that you should have all these strange mishaps.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at Dwalin’s words and you blinked a few times rapidly, wondering if you misheard.

“Second apology is about my reaction this morning,” he said and you ducked your head between your shoulders. “Getting sugar cookies for Durin’s Day ... It’s been the best gift I’ve ever received, and my heart swelled in my chest at the thought that someone went through all that trouble for me. Tasting them then ... well. I reacted too strongly.” Suddenly his massive hand was in your line of sight, gently patting Jasper’s flank. You could feel the heat from his muscly body emanating behind you. The pony’s eyes turned and he leaned into the dwarf’s hand; he clearly didn’t mind the warrior.

“The lads ... pranking a Durin’s Day gift is a new low point, even for them. Laughing as they did, at someone else’s hurt ... I confess I’m quite ashamed of them, we all are. Their Amad and Thorin are livid. You are right, they should have matured, and not only after the quest, but long ago. It had been one condition for them to be allowed to come on the quest to stop their pranking. We assumed they did. Obviously they undermined that. It is time they face some tougher rules. Neither of them will forget this day for some time to come, I promise you that.”

You shook your head. You didn’t want them punished; it wasn’t their fault everyone had let them get away with everything for years. “Is fine,” you said hoarsely, “It was my own doing.” _For being stupid enough to think of gifting something, anything, to the fiercest warrior of Durin’s line._

Dwalin sighed. “Yes, about that. That’s my third apology.” His hand was on your shoulder, heavy and warm, and he gently turned you around. Focusing on the elaborate etching on his breastplate just above his sternum you didn’t dare breathe. _Here it comes._ _He’s going to say he’s flattered, but not interested. Thank you, but no thank you._ Briefly you wondered how he would phrase it. Would he just grunt it out, straightforward as he tended to convey almost everything, or would he actually formulate some sort of fancy sentence? Before giving you a little pat and walking away. As if the day hadn’t been bad enough already, it now was about to get infinitely worse.

“It’s been a long time that I’ve had my eyes on you, Y/N-”

His voice sounded as if you had your ears under water and you shook your head a little. _What?_

“-but I’ve always thought you’ve set your heart on one of those idiotic whelps.”

Slowly shaking your head no you carefully lifted your eyes and met his steely gaze. His grey eyes darted over your face, as if searching for a truth. You shook your head again.

“Which is why I’ve stayed away,” he said in almost a whisper. “I’m not good with these things, and I realize only now that I’ve had it all wrong.”

You licked your lips. “What ... what are you saying, Dwalin?” you whispered back, your heart pounding madly in your chest, not daring to hope.

He hummed and reached into a pocket at his belt, taking out a small velvet pouch and holding it out to you.

Standing frozen your eyes darted from his hand to the pouch, to his eyes and back to the pouch.

“My Durin’s Day gift for you,” he explained, a sheepish expression on his face. “You’re a much braver person than I, because you _gave_ me your gift, whereas I would have hidden mine in a drawer in my room, just like last year’s gift, and a fair few from the years before that.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little. “You’ve made me gifts? And never gave them to me?”

His ears turned red and he shrugged a little, suddenly looking quite insecure. “As I said, I’m not very good with these things.”

Your hands trembled when you slowly took the pouch from him. Touching the hot skin of his calloused fingers sent a lightning bolt through your veins and the smile vanished from your lips as you took in a shuddering breath.

Carefully, you pulled the string and opened the pouch, tipping it upside down on the palm of your hand.

A golden pin. The round head was flat and about the size of your thumb nail. It had been beautifully poured in a mould depicting a very lifelike pony, with some exquisitely fine etching detailing the animal’s mane, tail and face.

“Are these ...” you carefully traced the pad of your forefinger over minuscule inlays.

“Mahogany obsidian,” Dwalin mumbled, “Colour of your eyes.”

 _My eyes_. You took a deep breath. You’d not spoken more than fifty words to Dwalin in all the years but he knew the colour of your eyes!

“And you prefer wearing tunics with wide collars, so I thought ...” he trailed off, his big hands flexing at his side.

The mighty warrior was nervous. Far more nervous than you ever thought possible. Nervous because he wasn’t sure whether you’d appreciate his observations, whether you’d like his gift.

Your heart felt so full and yet so very light all of a sudden. “I do,” you nodded and held out the pin to him. “Would you ...” you gestured towards your lapels.

Dwalin’s eyes widened a fraction but he hurried to oblige you. You noticed his fingers shook slightly as he took the pin from you, carefully undid the clasp and fastened it to your right collar. You kept watching his face as he did so, his grey eyes focused and full of emotion under his bushy eyebrows. They darted up to yours when he was done and he gave you a warm smile. “Beautiful,” he said softly, without looking away.

You felt yourself blush, which made his smile widen. Then he cleared his throat. “So, ‘bout those sugar cookies ...” He lifted his other hand, revealing Bombur’s apron, neatly folded into a small bundle.

You took it, snorting a little laugh at his wistful expression you gave him a playful little shove. “Would you like me to bake you another batch?” you asked. “I’ve done so many practice runs that I am quite good at making them by now, and this time I will taste every ingredient before adding it,” you added with a little frown, knowing you’d never make that mistake again, “It won’t take long,” you assured him, looking directly into his grey eyes.

He smiled with a nod as he took your hand into his big, warm paw. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes, Y/N, as long as I can be with you while you make them.” He cleared his throat. “And maybe ... maybe you’d like to go for a walk sometime? Or grab something to eat at one of them stalls at the Night Market?”

 _Mahal above, he really, really wanted to get to know you_. “I’d like that,” you said, hoarsely, “But Dwalin ... are you sure? I am only working in the stables, and you-“

He tugged on your hand to pull you closer. Stroking his beard thoughtfully you stood so close to him that a sheaf of parchment would barely fit between your bodies and waited, while he seemed to search for the right words. “Anyone told me I’d had to choose my best day ever, or my finest hour, or tell about my wildest dream come true ... it would be you, Y/N.” He looked down at you tenderly, “And as far as I’m concerned, that’s really all that matters.”

You blinked the tears away. “Same,” you croaked, because it was true. You watched him with wide eyes as he lifted your hand to his lips, turned it and pressed a lingering kiss onto your palm, his thick beard tickling your skin.

It took a little while to make it to the kitchens, but that was alright. You had time, now, that everything had fallen into place.


End file.
